


you make the rockin' world go 'round

by boasamishipper



Series: i'd like for you and i to go romancing [2]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: 1990s, BDSM, Bondage, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, Humor, Light Angst, Love Bites, M/M, Making Out, Post-Canon, Restraints, Sex, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: Things are heating up nicely...and then the doorbell rings. / Sequel to The Tango Just For Two.
Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Series: i'd like for you and i to go romancing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573030
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	you make the rockin' world go 'round

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecarlysutra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/gifts).



Maverick follows him home that night. Ice hadn’t asked him to, and Maverick hadn’t told him he was going to, but after everything, it fits that neither of them want to spend the night alone. They curl up on the couch together with leftovers from yesterday’s dinner, watching some Jeopardy rerun without really taking anything in, and one of the contestants has just incorrectly guessed the author of the Jack Ryan series when Maverick says, abruptly, “I thought you were going to die.”

 _I wasn’t going to die,_ Ice wants to say, but the words lodge in his throat on the way out. He remembers everything from that afternoon in too-vivid Technicolor, second by second — his stomach lurching, the plane spinning out of his control, the sickening deja vu of hearing Digger yelling over the comms _Mayday, mayday, Commander Kazansky’s in a flat spin._ And the only thought in his head, repeating on loop and keeping his hands steady, _Mav, I can’t leave Mav, I can’t leave him._

“I didn’t,” Ice says. If he says it enough, maybe he’ll believe it. “I didn’t die.”

“I thought you were going to.” Maverick’s shaking, and when Ice looks at him, his face is whiter than normal, his breaths coming fast and shallow. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought — God, Ice, I thought I was going to lose you, and I, I can’t. I can’t lose you, Ice.”

Ice’s chest tightens. “You’re not going to lose me, Mav.”

“You can’t promise that,” Maverick whispers, and Ice knows he’s not here right now, that he’s back in the ocean cradling Goose’s body and shielding his face from the spray kicked up by the rescue helicopter. So Ice takes Maverick’s hand in his, squeezing it and trying to bring him back to the present.

“I know,” he says. “But I can try. And I promise you’re not going to lose me. Not if I can help it.”

Maverick kisses him. It’s not smooth — in fact, he almost knees Ice in the groin in his haste to move onto Ice’s lap — but Ice catches him and kisses him right back. After all those days of their stupid sex embargo, even kissing Maverick gets him lightheaded. He slides his hands up the back of Maverick’s shirt, reveling in the smooth, warm expanse of skin, and Maverick in turn starts unzipping Ice’s fly. He can feel his erection pulsing against Maverick’s thigh, and it’s not at all surprising when Maverick says, “Fuck me.”

It takes a second for his brain to catch up. “What? Again?”

“Yeah, again.” Maverick’s voice has gone low, and it makes Ice shiver. “I want you.”

“Jesus. Yeah, I — okay. Okay.” He punctuates the end of each word with a kiss, then letting his lips wander along the line of Maverick’s jaw, his neck. Liking the way Maverick’s breathing grows ragged. “C’mon. Bedroom.”

It takes a few seconds for them to get moving, because Maverick’s starting to rock back and forth on Ice’s lap and it’s hard to think at all when he’s doing that. The bedroom’s only a hundred feet away tops, but it feels like a hundred miles — their progress keeps halting every time Maverick kisses him, so Ice just lifts him right off the floor. Maverick wraps his legs around Ice’s waist, and Ice carries him the rest of the way into the bedroom, dropping him unceremoniously on the bed. Maverick grabs him by the shirt and pulls him down with him, on top of him. Not that Ice minds.

“So,” he says, breathless and smirking. He’s got Maverick’s shirt off now, tossing it to the side before working on unzipping Maverick’s fly. Slow, careful movements. Their time in the showers earlier had been fast, eager — no less passionate, but he feels the need to take his time this time around. “You want me to fuck you, Mitchell?”

“Yes,” Maverick says. His hands are like a vice grip on Ice’s shoulders. “I need you in me, Ice, I need—” And then his voice falters, stopping Ice’s hands for a moment. “I need you, Ice.”

Ice knows what he means now, even if he’s not saying it outright. He needs to know that Ice isn’t going anywhere, just as after the near-accident Ice needed to know he was still alive, to feel alive through the panic and fading adrenaline. Maverick had given that to him, and he would do the same for Maverick. “I’m here,” he promises. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He can feel Maverick relax under him. “Good,” he says. Then, “So hurry up and fuck me already.”

Ice snorts. “The mouth on you, Mitchell.”

“You like my mouth.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Soon, both of their clothes are off — strewn somewhere on the floor, because this is the only time he doesn’t care about being messy — and Ice shifts off him to reach into the nightstand drawers, where he keeps the lube and condoms, but Maverick stops him when he makes to close the drawer. “Use the,” he says, breathless, “use the handcuffs. Tie me up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Maverick says. “I’m sure. Do it.”

Ice kisses Maverick hard. “Get on your back,” he orders, his voice a low purr, and his arousal at the sight of Maverick’s shiver — and how he immediately scrambles to obey orders — makes him _burn._ “Hands above your head. And stay still.”

He crosses the room to get the handcuffs from the bottom of his dresser, where he keeps the clothes he doesn’t wear anymore and the rest of the toys they normally use. The mattress dips under his weight when he returns, fastening the cuffs around Maverick’s wrists and chaining him to the headboard. Seeing him spread out like that on Ice’s bed, tied up, submissive, eager to play along is almost enough to make Ice come spontaneously.

“Are they too tight?”

Maverick tests them out. “No. They’re good.”

“Good,” Ice says. He climbs back on top of Maverick, careful not to put too much weight on him, and lifts his chin up so they’re looking right at each other. “You remember the rules, don’t you.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me them.”

“You…” Maverick’s chest rises and falls shakily. “You get to touch me, and I can’t come until you tell me to.”

“And if I do anything that you don’t like,” Ice says. “You have to tell me. You hear me?”

“I hear you. I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” Ice says, and kisses him. He can feel Maverick straining slightly in the handcuffs, probably wanting to run his hands through Ice’s hair, but he’s doing good staying still, just kissing Ice back with everything he has. He pulls back after a moment, and Maverick chases him, but Ice doesn’t let him make him contact. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, grinning. “Plenty of time for that later.”

Ice really wants to get on with things, but he’s nothing if not patient. He busies himself with moving down to bite on Maverick’s neck, sucking at his favorite spot right above Maverick’s pulse point, and then licks the sweat pooled in the hollow of the base of his throat. Maverick’s head’s tipped back and he manages, “Teeth. Use your teeth.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Ice—”

“Ask me nicely, Maverick, and I’ll do anything you want.”

Maverick squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a sharp breath. “Please. Please use your teeth.”

“Good boy,” Ice purrs. He scrapes his teeth over the spot above Maverick’s heart before slowly sinking in, sucking hard. Maverick twitches and lets out another sharp breath, his chest rising and falling. Ice moves further down, teasing Maverick, running his tongue over Maverick’s nipples and the grooves of his abs, taking his sweet time. Maverick’s bucking up under him, trying to get some friction, and Ice says, “Hang on, hang on.”

“Ice, I…”

“You’re doing so well for me, baby, hang on.” Ice traces the line of Maverick’s hip with his tongue. “I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

Maverick nods jerkily. “Okay.”

Ice licks at the spot where Maverick’s thigh meets his groin. Runs his tongue languidly over Maverick’s length and then takes the tip of Maverick’s cock (already hard and leaking) inside his mouth, liking the salty taste and the way that Maverick reacts, and—

The doorbell rings.

_What the fuck?_

“What the fuck?” Maverick echoes. His words slur together into one, and his gaze is a little bleary, but still panicked. “Did you hear that?”

“I heard,” Ice says. And then the doorbell rings again, followed by some knocking. “Jesus fuck.”

“…Is this part of the—”

“Are you serious?” Ice snaps, irritated by both the question and the interruption. “When did I have time to plan anything extra?”

“Just asking!”

“Christ. Stay here.” Ice crawls off Maverick and starts looking for his clothes. Once he’s got his shirt and pants back on, he turns back to Maverick and says, “I will be right back. Don’t move, and don’t make a sound, got it?”

Maverick nods, and Ice runs a hand through his hair as he stalks out of the bedroom and to the front door.

He’s got a biting remark about not having time for solicitors all ready to go when he throws the door open — and then he sees who’s on the other end and almost chokes on his own tongue. _“Viper?”_

“Kazansky,” Viper greets. He’s not in uniform — in fact, this is the first time Ice has ever seen him in anything _but_ his uniform — but he looks no less crisp and well put-together, and Ice feels a hot flush of embarrassment burning his face and the back of his neck. “Thought I’d come by to see how you were doing after today.”

“Thank you for stopping by, sir,” Ice manages, not adding _but I was right in the middle of fucking my wingman, so…_ Then, because he knows Viper’s waiting for an answer, he says, “I’m…I’m alright, sir. Little shaken up, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Base hospital cleared you for duty?”

“Yes sir. I wasn’t injured, so…”

“Right,” Viper says, frowning. “You sure you’re alright, Kazansky? You look a little flushed.”

This time, Ice does choke. “Flushed?” he repeats, his voice thankfully remaining in the same octave throughout the word. “No sir. I mean, yes sir, I’m fine.”

Viper doesn’t look convinced. “Well, since I’m here,” he says, “figured I’d fill you in on what happened to Jazz and Spitfire.” He hooks his fingers through his belt loops. “You going to invite me in or am I gonna stand here warming your doorstep all evening?”

Ice opens his mouth, closes it. He can think of about a million things he’d rather do than let Viper into his house, but it’ll be infinitely more suspicious if he _doesn’t._ And the last thing he wants is for Viper to force his way in and find Maverick Mitchell naked and handcuffed to Ice’s bed. He’s going to have to play this carefully. “Sure,” he says. “Uh, come on in.”

“Great welcome,” Viper says, but he enters the house and Ice closes the door behind him, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Did he actually die that afternoon? Is he in Hell? There’s no way this is actually happening right now. “Which way’s your kitchen? Down here?”

He’d started heading down the way to Ice’s bedroom, and Ice’s entire life flashes before his eyes. “No,” he says, too sharp, and at Viper’s raised eyebrows he tries again. “No, uh. This way. Can I get you something, sir? Some coffee?”

“Coffee’s fine, thank you.”

Viper sits down at the table, and Ice goes to put a pot of coffee on, grateful beyond belief that he’d had the foresight to do the dishes earlier. Maverick’s motorcycle is in the garage and his jacket’s in the closet, so there’s no proof that there’s anybody here but him. And Viper, now. Christ. The sooner this chat is done, the better.

Unfortunately, Viper doesn’t seem to grasp that Ice is in a hurry to get him the hell out of his house. He takes his time stirring cream and sugar into his coffee — and isn’t that funny, Viper takes his coffee the same as Maverick — and then starts talking about Jazz and Spitfire. He and Jester decided that Jazz and Spitfire would be getting their points docked from the hop, and that they’d forfeit every hop for the next week. “Next offense — and hopefully there won’t be one — but next offense there’ll be an inquiry,” he says.

And even with Ice’s best efforts to keep his answers short, that bit of information somehow leads to a forty-five minute long conversation about work, and who’s going to be Top Gun, and the new instructor they have to hire now that Jester’s retiring, and so on, and so forth. Ice has no idea how he’s even able to concentrate at all knowing that Maverick is hidden less than a hundred feet away, but somehow he manages. 

Finally, an hour later, Viper pushes back from the table, and Ice almost falls to his knees and thanks God when Viper says he ought to get home. He keeps his pace and expression steady as he walks Viper to the door. “Thank you for coming by, sir,” he says as politely as he can manage.

“Anytime,” Viper says. “I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Kazansky?”

Ice swallows hard. “…Yes sir?”

Viper claps him on the shoulder. “Glad you’re alright. Wouldn’t want to be down another instructor.”

Despite everything, Ice smiles. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see you Monday.”

Viper nods and walks back to his car, parked on the side of the street. Ice watches him get back in and drive off — and only once he’s sure Viper’s gone and not coming back does Ice slam the front door shut, lock it, and sprint back into the bedroom.

Maverick is still on the bed, still naked and chained to the headboard, and his entire body relaxes when he sees Ice come in. “Christ, Ice,” he says. “What the hell was Viper doing here?”

“He picked a hell of a bad time to try and become a Good Samaritan,” Ice says, grabbing the key to the cuffs off the dresser and racing over to Maverick’s side. He removes the restraints from Maverick’s wrists, easing Maverick down onto the pillows, feeling immensely guilty at the wince that action elicits. “I’m so sorry, I tried to get him out of here as fast as I could but he wouldn’t fucking leave — are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Maverick winces halfway through the words, which doesn’t exactly make him sound more credible. “Really. Just a little sore. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Maverick says. “I promise.”

Ice lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “Good,” he says. He lays next to Maverick and stamps a quick kiss to his forehead; he takes one of Maverick’s wrists and starts massaging it, trying to ease any pain he might be having. “Thank God.”

They’ve been laying together staring up at the ceiling in silence for maybe a minute when Maverick says, “You know, I did what you said.”

Ice looks over at him — and then notices for the first time that Maverick is still hard. Not as much as he was an hour ago, but still uncomfortably so. And he’d stayed quiet and hadn’t moved that whole time, all on Ice’s orders. The realization sends arousal spiraling outward from the pit of his stomach. _Jesus, Mav, the things you do to me..._ “Yeah,” he says, his tone low. “Yeah, you did.”

“Do I get a prize?”

Ice rolls over and climbs back on top of Maverick, pausing to brush a damp strand of hair away from Maverick’s forehead. “You know,” he says, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “I think you do.”

Maverick grins.


End file.
